Chapter 9

Rubbatubtub

I look mournfully down at my hands. Though they aren't cracked and burned in appearance any longer, they shine with very smooth scarring. They're all over my body, these scars; they are the only evidence of what had happened two weeks ago now.

"I'm sorry that I scarred you," Loki says softly from the couch, I raise my eyes to look at him. He truly does look very sorry, and the fact that he even said the words...

"It's alright," I say, dropping my hands from my sight. "They give me character, I guess. Besides, they aren't so bad." And really, they aren't that bad at all. My skin looks just like it did before, just with a shimmering layer on patches of it now.

"Besides, you did say you couldn't control your magic ice powers, right?" I ask him, trying to comfort him at least a little.

"That is correct, though I should have tried," he stubbornly argues.

"Loki," I lean forward, forcing his eyes to focus on mine. "You aren't used to these powers. In fact, you're still denying them, I'd guess." Loki looks down, a frown embedded on his face.

"There are many things I am not used to," he say contemplatively. "As an example, I have not bared my thoughts like this to anyone for a long time..."

"Really?" I ask him. "No one? That is quite heart breaking..." The change is instantaneous.

He whips around to face me better and snarls, "Do not mock me, mortal! For if you do so, I swear that I will-" but I cut off his little hissing fit right in the stem.

I raise my hand to draw his attention. "Shut up before you say something you might regret," I warn him, my voice glacial. His face contorts in outrage, but I twitch my raised hand to keep him quiet.

"Shush! Now, before you break a perfectly good relationship over some minor misunderstanding," Loki goes to open his mouth again to speak, I glare at him sharply. He closes his mouth again, still looking quite pissed.

"As I was saying, I didn't mean what I said to be taken offensively. What I mean is that I find it sad that you've never trusted anyone that much before." He's quiet now, seeming to think my words over. "But why do you trust me that much?" I ask him, thinking aloud more than anything else.

"Because, although you might lie to me, you will never betray my secrets," Loki says sincerely. "You are mine. My servant, my companion, and holder of my secrets. When you first came here, I never intended to let you go."

I stare at him, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn't.

"And now?" I ask him, prompting him to continue.

"Now nothing has changed," he says shortly. "You are still mine, and because of that, you are the only one whom I can trust with my thoughts."

So I am the only one who will hear any of this, then? The only one who will see an honest, laughing Loki? To receive genuine compliments that aren't dished out with ulterior motives, but are simply given just because?

But the price for all this is the rest of my life in his service. While he's not as bad now as he used to be, it still sucks to be his slave.

"Well, that's a truck load you're dumping on my shoulders!" I say lightly, chuckling a little awkwardly.

"Is it?" he simply asks.

"Well, you're giving me your trust and your secrets," I explain. "If I screw this up, I'm sure the consequences would be catastrophic."

"Oh, extremely so," he says darkly. "Though fortunately there is not a soul in which you can betray me to."

That comment feels quite foreboding; suddenly I'm reminded of everyone I'm leaving behind, all the people I'll never see again. I wonder what they're thinking now. I'm sure they would have realised that something is wrong by now.

Would I find pictures of my face plastered on 'lost' posters when... if I get home? I wonder.

I'll never tell another soul, alright. While Loki seems alright now (must be my charming personality getting through to him), he will never make his presence known whilst he's still in hiding, which could be for any stretch of time. I will never see my family again...

"So," I say, clearing my throat and my mind of those depressing thoughts. "What's the verdict, Doctor Loki? Am I well enough to get out of bed now?"

Loki raises his eyebrow at me, but nods. "I would say that you are now well enough to walk."

"Thank fucking God!" I sigh in a relief, throwing myself haphazardly out of bed. "I really need a bath, and not that weird fucking hocus pocus that you do, either!" I exclaim, drifting towards the bathroom and towards my dream.

You know... I honestly haven't a clue as to when I last had a bath. Actually, screw it, it was the day before I got here, but that was so long ago now... He's been doing that little spell of his for all this time; I'm almost shocked that he's letting me use the bath at long last.

I turn the taps, making sure that I get just the right temperature and wait for the tub to fill. With the sound of the water filling up the tub, I daydream of how my Mom would react when I get home. How she would hug me tightly, claiming that she would never let me go. Then my friends, they would all be asking me if I'm alright, and what it was like to meet a real god. Ben would awkwardly pat me on the shoulder, but smile widely and tell me how happy he is to see me safe, and Lexie would do the same. As for Rick- the ex who stayed as my friend- he would hug me tightly and grin, saying that he knew I would make it back in the end.

I am a survivor, after all...

The bath fills with water, and I shed my clothes. Still the same clothes; the same pug and jeans and even the socks. The whole outfit is starting to look a little worn, but Loki's refused to let me leave to get my other clothes, so long as he can keep magically cleaning myself and my current clothing.

The water feels luxurious after so many weeks where the only interaction with water I had is either to clean stuff with it, or to drink it. I run my hand through it, enjoying the feel of it slipping through my fingers. I sigh in pleasure, sinking low so that my whole face is submerged.

This is what heaven feels like. The feel of hot water, set at just the right temperature to not be scolding, but still be hotter than 'warm'.

I rise, breaking through the surface of the water, completely drenched with residual warmth clinging to my hair and skin. It is glorious.

I don't know how long I'm in there for, just swishing the water, resting, splashing and all sorts of other incredibly mature things that all grown ups do in the bath. Let's just be thankful there isn't any rubber ducks, or else Loki would never see me again!

When I finally decide to get out of the bath tub, the water has long since turned lukewarm, and all of my fingers are so shrivelled that I'm disgusted. I look around for a towel to dry myself with, only to find just one hanging beside the bath.

It's most probably Loki's. I bite my lip, awkwardly wrapping my arms around my bare chest.

Should I use it? The thought flashes through my mind before I can stop it. I shake my head, most probably blushing more than a little.

Don't be silly, idiot! It's Loki's towel! I walk over to my pile of clothes, and start reluctantly putting them on again.

With my shirt clinging embarrassingly to my torso (good job I was wearing a bra when I got here!) and all my other clothes leaving very little to the imagination, I walk out of the bathroom with both of my arms wrapped around me, feeling utterly embarrassed about forgetting the problem of how to dry myself.

I quickly scurry over to the couch, and huddle there, shivering slightly as the cold truly starts to take its toll. I peek up at Loki around my wet wall of hair. He stares at me from his position on the bed, book on his lap and eyebrow raised enquiringly.

"Why in Helheim are you so wet?" he asks me. I stare in astonishment.

"Because I had a bath?" I ask slowly. Obviously.

"I know that," he says, putting the book aside in slight exasperation. "But is it of Midgardian tradition to not dry yourself fully after having bathed?" he leans forward slightly in a mixture of curiosity and teasing intrigue. I scoff.

"No, it's not 'of Midgardian tradition', there was only one towel in there!" I exclaim, pointing at the bathroom.

"Of course there is," he says, barely restraining a laugh, it seems. "That would be yours."

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to use your towel because-" wait... backtrack... "You're shitting me," I say slowly.

"I'd rather not," Loki says in distaste.

"But... what do you use to dry yourself with?" I ask in shock. He gives me a rather dirty grin that seems to say 'wouldn't you want to know...' I blush. "I-I mean... fuck, you know what I mean!"

"Fear not, Shana, I know exactly what you mean," he says, openly laughing at me. "I use my Seidr, obviously."

"Pff-yeah, obviously," I mutter. "And what's this 'See-der' exactly? Other than some drink that isn't cider, that is..."

"Seidr is our word for magic," Loki explains, still smirking slightly.

"But... I've heard you call it magic!" I say, pointing my finger at him accusingly.

"That would be because that is the word you are most familiar with," he says, frowning disapprovingly at my accusing finger. "Did you truly believe that I sat idle whilst attempting to take reign over Midgard? Besides," he shifts his eyes to look into mine with a cocky smirk gracing his lips. "As a weaver of magic, I am able to speak any language through the power of the All-Speak. Excluding 'slang', that is."

I frown thoughtfully at this. "So, does that mean you could speak French right here, right now?" I ask him, intrigued by this 'All-Speak'.

"If I were to witness the language as it is spoken, then yes. I would learn it swiftly. However, the reason why Thor and I had both been able to speak your 'English' after just mere moments of being here was because we have journeyed here several times for minor quests whilst under disguise over the past half millennia. Though the last journey was at least a century ago," he explains. I shrug.

"I suppose that's fair enough," I say calmly. "I just assumed that because you can do magic, you'll be able to magically know what everyone's saying, just like that," I snap my fingers in example. Loki shakes his head, looking amused.

"It's not quite that simple," he says, which makes me scoff.

"Fuck if I know what's simple or not to you thousand year old, magic wielding alien gods!" I counter. He blinks at me slowly, then starts to chuckle slightly.

"What?" I ask him, frowning slightly. The chuckle escalates to actual, obvious laughing.

"What?" I ask again, crossing my arms in annoyance. He continues laughing, though now he's bending over, supporting his hands on his knees as his laugh grows louder.

"Okay, it was a little funny, but I don't think it was that funny," I say, now getting a little annoyed with being laughed at. He begins to settle down, blinking away tears from his eyes.

"Oh, Shana," he says fondly, and with a wave of his hand, I jump at suddenly being dry and warm, as I had completely forgotten about my discomfort. "You are right, of course," he accepts amicably. "I suppose that we are far from simple."